Love Over Time
by fernland
Summary: Fleur, 86 years old, recalls her and Hermione's love story. Those who fear weak plots and first person narratives inserted at random: beware! This here rambling fanfic is for love and for fun. Fleurmione.
1. Chapter 1

There are lots of ways to tell a story and I gave myself permission to tell you mine. Yes, that may sound cliché—but some clichés feel warm and constant, much like reading inside on a cloudy day.

So, here dear reader lies my story of love over time. Here I will give voice to what it felt like to have my love's hair draped over my chest —but I'm getting ahead of myself. Shall I start at the beginning? Maybe at just one of my beginnings —she and I had so many twist and turns, like one of those storms so powerful it had to be named so sailors could recall it and clank their glasses over their survival. But now I am rambling. So it goes with old people. Our minds are full of so many years and thoughts —but now it's time to batten down the hatches, to go back to a year of love starting. Because she wasn't always my love. She had to become that.

=0=0=0=

I hated Hogwarts—shallow as that may sound. People get confused at what is truly shallow. I know this because I was confused in the past. It was not what I saw, but what I always wanted to see that made me shallow. I only wanted to witness beauty. It took me too long to see the beauty of Britain, to appreciate the sun even through layers and layers of clouds. It did not take me long to see my love's beauty though —again I am ahead of myself.

Let me start again.

When I am silent, I can see one's true nature. I can look at a face and see one's character by the curl of their lips, by the arch of their eyebrows. So, when I silently stared at Hermione Granger this love story began.

=0=0=0=

"She's staring at me again!" Hermione complained as she reached towards her stack of books. "Since day one!" She added in a low mutter.

"Why does your voice sound like it does when a class you don't like is cancelled?" Harry replied, smiling.

The witch was flipping the pages of an overly large book before Harry's comment froze her in mid-thought. "What do you mean, Harry?"

Harry is very observant for someone that doesn't pay attention to most of his lessons. He recognized her confused tone from having a slight pleased feeling under her complaint.

"Nothing really. Could you help with my essay?" It was a classic redirection of attention, but it worked—Hermione had a weak spot for correcting Harry's writing.

"Well, since you barely know how to use prepositions—okay."

=0=0=0=

If you can imagine the most enthralling eyes and the most beautiful laugh line, so perfectly placed at the corner of a mouth, you would understand why I could not stop my staring. All of her expressions showed me who she was. I enjoyed them so much so that it was sometimes overwhelming to see Hermione's beauty over breakfast or in other mundane places like hallways and in front of chilly classrooms. Yes, this was back when I thought most things were mundane. I think young people cannot see the beauty in the steam rising from a hot meal or in the many sounds of life occurring—especially when there is magic to fill their senses. Magic filled my veela bones and mind. I wanted to excel at it, and so I did. Those early days at Hogwarts all I did was think about magic and Hermione—until I had to think about dragons…

Yes, dragons. Facing a dragon made my heart race. My heart must have opened in beating that fast. That may be the reason I was brave enough to finally seek the one that was already with me in my mind every day.

=0=0=0=

"Hermione Granger." Fleur's eyes may have looked wild in their focusing on Hermione. She wasn't sure.

"What?"

The witch's eyebrows reached so far down that Fleur could barely see the pupils of her eyes.

The veela thought it was a simple enough statement to say. But the witch's reaction to her was very strong. Fleur was still covered in grime from the First Task. She pondered if that was why—admittedly, she didn't look her best.

"Will you attend the Yule Ball with me?" Fleur asked.

"What. Is. The. Yule Ball?" Hermione replied sternly.

Hermione's annunciation confused Fleur, but she answered her question anyway. "Madame Maxime told me there would be a ball and that I would need to be accompanied by a date," Fleur replied.

Fleur was not nervous. No one had ever rejected her before. Even witnessing Hermione's angry face didn't dismay the veela. She already knew she liked Hermione's nature—she had seen enough to know that it was volatile at times.

"Fleur Delacour, who are you?" Hermione yelled.

"Why do your questions not sound like questions? Is this an English trait?"

"Well, you should ask someone to the ball that isn't English I guess."

And with that, Hermione turned around and walked quickly away, leaving a disappointed yet un-surrendering veela behind. Lucky for Fleur, she was so unaccustomed to rejection that it barely registered in her mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Dearest reader, I am a romantic. I love beauty and I see the small things, small movements like the first time Hermione did not turn her gaze from me. It was only a second, a pause.

Harry saw it too. Sometimes you have a friend and don't even know it.

=0=0=0=0=

Harry walked quietly next to Hermione. He was waiting for the right moment to ask for help. He knew she would say yes. But that doesn't mean she would help without a fuss. Harry was on the no-fuss plan.

He saw Fleur first, before she had seen Hermione and vise-versa. When her eyes moved across the hallway, he smiled at her. Not a nervous, struck-by-a veela smile, but a genuinely friendly one. Fleur smiled back right as Hermione saw her.

The veela's features held a gentle quality Harry didn't think Hermione had seen before from Fleur. And since Hermione's eye-contact warmed the veela's features towards her even further, Harry knew that the witch was probably reeling from it.

She would most definitely need a distraction.

"Hermione, could you help me with—"

"Yes," she replied absently.

Harry saw that Hermione was somewhere else, somewhere slightly exciting, yet also uncomfortable. He recognized it. This was the same place inside himself he seems to go when Cho is around.

"Brilliant, Hermione. Thanks!"

"Now."

"I was thinking after—"

"Now. I can help you now." Hermione repeated firmly, yet her eyes still seemed far away.

Harry smiled. "Alright then."

"Wait." Hermione squinted, as if she finally just noticed him. "What is_ that_ smile for?" She shook her head. "I should have known not to tell you about the Yule Ball."

"Hermione, don't get paranoid. It's not like I am cupiding you and Fleur. I _do_ think there is more to Fleur there than what you see though."

"Harry—"

"Hermione, my only interest now is Snape's antidotes essay." Harry hoped his troubled academics would be the conversation game changer he needed.

The witch sighed very loudly. "You haven't been working on it at all, have you? I don't see how you and Ron pass your classes half the time!"

Harry side squeezed his friend. "We couldn't do it without you."

"Don't remind me. I shudder to think of all the books I could have read instead of doing your homework." But Hermione was now smiling at Harry.

=0=0=0=0=

I did not feel time in my mind, only Hermione and hum of magic as I worked. And I worked very hard. I could feel my want of her in every spell I studied and mastered.

Dear reader, do you think time passes differently when you want someone? Especially when that said person gives you something to endlessly imagine. Hermione's soft glance. It was just an instant. But somehow without magic I stopped time. I made it stay with me.

Though I have to say that she was already always with me. Had my insides grown bigger to fit a whole other person inside me? Maybe so. Love is a kind of magic after all.

But I wasn't in love yet. Nevertheless, I was in something very deep and every time Hermione's eyes found mine, accident or not, the larger she must have grown in my mind.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for reading my wacky story. :)**

* * *

Fleur made her way to Hermione after having watched her with Viktor for far too many songs.

"May I, as the British say, cut in?" She had heard many boys ask Roger that question throughout the evening. He always said no. Viktor however, was being asked by a veela. He looked a little shocked by the question, or it could have been awe from standing next to Fleur.

"Yes?" He finally said after a long pause.

"Yes," Fleur reiterated, showing him that his answer was in fact the correct one. Viktor walked away, confusion on his face. Fleur held back an urge to roll her eyes and turned to face the girl she had stared at and wanted all night. Hermione's brown eyes were fiery and beautiful.

"What if I don't want to dance with you?" The witch asked in her typical tone toward Fleur. But Fleur was not deterred. She was now used to Hermione's question/ argument technique.

"You can stand by yourself, chase down Viktor, or sit with your friends, who haven't moved once since the first song. Or…" Fleur took one of Hermione's hands as she walked towards her, closing the space between them. "…You can dance with me."

Fleur's stare moved from Hermione's eyes to her lips. If she hadn't, she would have missed seeing them parted just enough to release a pronounced breath. Hearing the air leave Hermione's mouth flushed Fleur's body with electricity. She slid her hand on the curve of Hermione's waist, and heard yet again, another audible breath.

"One dance?" Fleur asked. This time her tone reflected more than a question. She was learning from the brown-eyed witch. A question isn't always a question. Sometimes it's a fight. Sometimes it's a declaration.

"One. Dance," Hermione replied through gritted teeth.

And so they danced. It was the closest Fleur had ever been to the witch. Her body was humming with want and movement. It was bliss, even if Hermione wasn't able to make eye contact.

For Hermione their dance was many things, but bliss was not one of them. Hermione's eyes strayed to one of the many places where Fleur's skin met her's. She was trying not to look into Fleur's eyes, but to her growing frustration, every place her eyes found still elicited a blush. She did NOT want to blush. Hermione found herself looking past Fleur's shoulder while they danced. She noticed that other dancers, both male and female, were watching them with obvious awe and desire. It was shocking to say the least.

In a last-ditch effort, Hermione decided to focus on one of Fleur's ears. It seemed an innocent enough place for her attention as she tried to ignore the pulsing of her body under Fleur's touch. But as much as Hermione was familiar with anatomy, tragically, the brown-eyed witch remembered too late that Fleur's ear was also connected to her jaw and cheek, and they happened to be very close to her perfect lips. All and all, Hermione realized that everything was entirely too close together, especially her and Fleur's body.

And when her eyes finally let themselves rest on Fleur's lips, Hermione was back to square one all over again. Fleur watched Hermione's brown eyes find her mouth. Smiling, Fleur leaned in close enough that her lips were almost touching Hermione's. There was no release of breath from the younger witch. Hermione froze instead, frightfully realizing that she was unable to pull away from the veela.

Fleur could see the fear and want in Hermione's expression. Unaccustomed to asking permission, it took much restraint and all of Fleur's concentration to not rush at her.

"May I kiss you, Hermione?" Fleur finally asked in a lustful whisper. The veela's words dripped with charmed sensuality.

Fleur's strong presence and her warm even breaths pressed against all of Hermione's senses. It was too much and so it was to her great relief that the song ended and she was able to pull herself away.

"There's your one dance. If you will excuse me, I have to get back to my date," Hermione said it abruptly, now seemingly unfazed by their intimate dance.

Fleur watched her go. Never had she ever wanted someone so complicated. Whether she could have what she desired was never in question before Hermione. Her romantic advances had always been quickly received. Now her unrequited desire was in the hands of someone who refused to want her openly.

Fleur touched her chest. She felt something new and immensely uncomfortable rise inside of her—the sharp pain of rejection. It carved a spot inside her heart for the first time. Her eyes swelled from the unexpected sorrow as she walked from the hall.

The veela didn't see Harry across the room. He had followed her and Hermione's whole encounter. It was sad for him to see his new acquaintance looking so distressed. With concerned eyes he also witnessed Hermione's familiar, self-imposed stoicism when from the arms of Viktor Krum she watched Fleur leave.

* * *

=0=0=0=0=

I could make Hermione's cheeks blush at the command of my eyes. With one look I could create goose bumps and make her heart race. Across a room I could send blood to all the places I wanted to touch. But I wouldn't look at Hermione.

I stopped because there are heartstrings that extend out from the soul and I could feel Hermione's. They were beautiful and taut with feeling. I felt them when she was with her friends.

Dear reader, Hermione didn't want her heart to reach for me and little by little I had to try to let her go.


	4. Chapter 4

Fleur stood above the lake barely noticing how cold she was. All she could do is stare into its depths waiting. She was happy for a moment when she saw Hermione and Viktor come out of the water. Though the witch's arrival didn't shift Fleur from worry for more than a few seconds. A red-haired man brought a coat for her to wear. Fleur took it gratefully and thanked him. He nodded and stood by her side, eyes glued to the water as her's were. Behind them, unnoticed, Hermione stared somberly.

=0=0=0=0=

Reader, there are heightened moments when we forget our masks—when all we feel is our impulsive humanity inside of us wanting to do exactly what it needs to do.

=0=0=0=0=

Fleur felt on her arm what she thought was the touch of another stranger. Heat burned through her body once she saw it was Hermione. Brown eyes looked on her as they hadn't before—in the place of anger was care. Hermione clasped Fleur's hand before turning her eyes on the lake—as if her presence next to Fleur was completely normal and expected. Shock on her face, Fleur returned her attention to the dark water before her. Even in her worried state, she couldn't help but focus on her hand inside of Hermione's because the witch's fingers began to move in slow circles. Minutes passed and Fleur let Hermione's comforting touch melt away the hurt that remained after the Yule Ball.

Finally, Harry brought Gabrielle and Ron to the surface. Hermione released Fleur's hand—her surreal comfort leaving as briskly as it came. In a one swift movement, Fleur was bending to lift her sister from the water. Hermione moved back, again silently watching Bill Weasley help Fleur before she walked away.

=0=0=0=0=

Over breakfast Hermione was the type of edgy that scared Ron the most. This quiet tension could have her lashing out at any second. He raised his eyebrows at Harry in his customary "What's her problem and did we do anything wrong?" face. Harry knew enough that if Ron didn't know by now about Fleur, he wouldn't understand, so he shrugged his shoulders and motioned for Ron to rub the yolk off his face.

Harry waited for the next step. At any moment Hermione would begin a barely audible string of mumbles directed at the fallacies of some book or a lesson. Inevitably, next in line for punishment would be him or Ron. However innocent they may be in the moment, with so many years of offending behavior between them both, there was no protection.

Then to everyone's surprise, Fleur sat down next to Hermione. Her face was serene, a stark contrast to Hermione's disconcerted expression.

"Allo." Fleur said, smiling brightly. She didn't notice Ron's dropped jaw—she only had eyes for Hermione.

Hermione noticed Ron though and shot him a dark look before giving Fleur her attention. "Hi," she responded flatly.

Harry could see that Fleur was taken aback by Hermione's cold greeting. He watched her posture straighten.

"I wanted to thank you for yesterday, Hermione," Fleur said with a new polite distance in her tone.

"You shouldn't….I would have done it for anyone," Hermione replied, her eyes darting to her breakfast plate.

"I see," Fleur said softly.

She waited for Hermione's eyes, but they didn't return. She looked at Ron and inhaled a disappointed breath at his all too familiar demeanor. When her eyes found Harry's, he gave her the best gentle, encouraging smile he could. It wasn't enough though. Fleur thanked him with a silent nod and rose. She left without looking back at Hermione.

Harry looked on as Hermione's angry, confused eyes watched Fleur walk across the hall. The brown haired witch knew just when she could lift her eyes —having heard Fleur's every breath and movement as she left their table.

Harry knew he may regret this, but he wanted to say it anyway. "She doesn't want him, Hermione."

Razors shot from her eyes at his knowledge of the situation. Harry watched Hermione, knowing she was replaying the end of Second Tournament in her mind. He saw the moment pass over her face when she realized he had seen her watching Fleur and Bill. Harry unconsciously squinted his eyes in readying for his expected punishment, but Hermione just grabbed her books and left.

"Blimey! What the hell was all that?" Ron exclaimed, wide-eyed.

Disappointed and with one of his best friends mad at him, Ron's cluelessness had finally exhausted Harry's patience. "Wipe the yolk off your face. You're in a veela stupor."

Ron wiped at his face."Ohhhhh, that's why Hermione's mad, isn't it! It's not my fault they don't make 'em like that at Hogwarts," Ron replied and went back to eating like nothing happened.

Harry shook his head. He envied Ron's blissful ignorance.


	5. Chapter 5

On a cold, terrible day Hermione showed me a part of herself. I kept the feel of her hand inside of mine. I carried it with me and fresh hope blossomed. But reader, there are so many parts to each of us and the next morning she showed me yet another. I could hear the dissonance in her voice—the betrayal of her own heart within her words and it angered me.

I love very deeply and parts of me are frighteningly delicate. But friend, I can tell you that my pride runs just as deep as my love. It is threaded inside me like a strong muscle.

I always chased my dreams. I lived the way I want, and I wanted all the time. So much so that I had finally gotten lost inside myself—reliving moments, staring out and only seeing one face—Hermione's face.

But no more I decided, not after that cruel morning in the Great Hall.

I ran until I stood before an old, tall tree. I pressed against it because it was solid and graceful—how I was before Hermione. I pushed my back against its rough bark so I could feel that solid again. There as my tears fell, I felt my pride awaken. Dignity must have its own chemistry; I could feel it traveling through my body. It held the warmth of firewhiskey and the totality of magic.

Looking back I can see this was just one simple moment. The world was beginning to break apart and I had no idea of the darkness encroaching—that while I nursed my heart with pride something evil was slyly sinking its claws into all the places around me. Hindsight can't change fact. It can only expose a moment. Perhaps making an instance seem foolish, or sometimes if we are lucky making it feel lighter. Because what is one rejected heart when compared to a newly broken world?

=0=0=0=0=

Harry stood on the bridge staring out at nothing in particular. Voldemort was back and gloom seemed to seep into most moments and conversations because of Cedric's death. Being outside helped. Harry thought of Hermione and wished he had told the witch to follow her heart weeks ago. Instead, he watched her mood become more and more forlorn. It was especially bad when Ron bragged of his older brother's pursuit of Fleur.  
Harry smiled when he realized the Beauxbaton students weren't leaving till later in the day. Maybe there was still time.

=0=0=0=0=

Harry walked up to Hermione in the Gryffindor common room. He didn't even wait for her to look up before he started. "You have to at least say goodbye to her, Hermione." Harry was very nervous, but he still managed to sound firm.

Hermione slammed her book down. "And why must I do that?"

"Why?...Well, I'll tell you," Harry said, pushing up his glasses. Then he put his hands in his pockets while he tried to think of what to say.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Quite the argument."

"Fleur never did anything wrong, Hermione! All she did was like you and try to get to know you. What's wrong with that?"

"Harry—"

"No, wait. That is not even the most important reason." Harry sat down and leaned in close to his friend. "The most important reason to say goodbye is because you care about her and have been sad for weeks about it."

Harry could tell that he had finally reached Hermione. Her eyes were stressed and her thumb was tapping. He smiled. "You have a few hours. Make the most of it."

=0=0=0=0=

Friend, we can't have everyone we want. There are loves we don't get to explore. People we won't ever see walking to a kitchen naked or half under covers asleep.

I was leaving Hogwarts. It was scheduled as such. Sometimes when a tragedy happens, all you can do is grasp on to the most expected act. Hermione did not want me, Cedric was dead, and evil was upon us.

I went to visit my tree one last time because it was beautiful and it had helped me. Trees don't have to be brave. A tree knows its place. It knows what to do on the cusp of spring and summer when the days are long. Days that should have been be full of promise, when instead they were filled with grief and longing.

But remember this: unexpected things happen even when hope is lost.

=0=0=0=0=

"This is a nice tree you've found."

The nervous pitch of Hermione's voice betrayed the nonchalance of her words. Fleur turned to see her face but found that the witch was on the other side of the tree. Though she could see Hermione had placed one of her hands on the bark near her's.

"It is. What are doing, Her—" The veela felt the light pressure of finger tips touching her hand and it stole her voice. Slowly soft fingers moved over Fleur's hand. "I'm sorry, Fleur. Really, I am."

Fleur answered with her own fingers. They grabbed at Hermione's and held them. "We don't know each other."

"We don't," Hermione agreed.

"But I knew I wanted you."

"I know."

Fleur could hear Hermione's breathing. Her hand gripped harder. "What else could I do but try to stop?"

"Bill," Hermione answered in a choked whisper. She tried to pull her hand away, but Fleur held on. The younger witch pushed off the tree and turned towards the veela so they finally faced each other. "Then why is this happening?" Hermione asked angrily, gesturing with her eyes towards their hands.

"Because I can't help myself. It's always been so with you," Fleur replied, her face melancholy. She looked at their hands entwined and then released the other witch. Fleur saw Hermione's hesitation. Her hand hung in the air for a moment before lowering. "Have you changed your mind, Hermione?"

"I don't know." Hermione looked up as her eyes became wet. "I just felt I had to say goodbye and I knew I was sorry," Hermione said as she wrung her hands together. "Then I found you here."

Fleur looked towards the carriage. "I have to go," she said wearily.

"But—"

"No." Hermione's eyes widened at Fleur's interruption. The veela's pride had finally surfaced. "There will be no more indecisiveness." Fleur took a deep breath. When she continued her voice was less firm. "There is no eye to your storm, Hermione. No calm. Do you understand?"

Hermione didn't answer. She nodded quietly as tears traveled down her cheeks. "Do you at least accept my apology?"

Fleur smiled but her eyes were sad. Young love truly was painful and she was ready for her heart to lighten. Offering forgiveness would surly help. "I do."

* * *

**A/N: I know in the description of this story it says humor. oops. Its rainy and dark here in the Puget Sound, but there is tea, cozy things, and you to appreciate. :) **Anyway, what I'm saying is this: thank you for being there.****


	6. Chapter 6

"But you love Hermione and she loves you." Harry's voice had a pleading quality. Fleur admired his romantic nature. It took a lot of boldness to approach her like this on today of all days.

"Harry, when Hermione and I met —how can I describe it? I wore my whole self on my sleeve. I still do. But she could never truly accept me. I'm a veela, Harry. I need my love wanted. I need my heart seen."

"But—"

"You are an ill-timed cupid, Harry. It is my wedding day."

She was smiling, though Harry could see that her eyes were somewhat sad. He conceded with a nod and began to walk out of the room. Pausing right at the exit, in a last attempt, he asked, "Is this fair to Bill?"

"Bill knows my heart and my wants. He accepts me."

Fleur's words held confidence. Something Harry realized Hermione did not have in her unrelenting and unfulfilled bond with the veela.

"You deserve all of those things, Fleur. I wish you the best."

"Thank you," Fleur replied.

She turned and let Harry slip out. Her hand automatically touched the paper she had just been reading before Harry came. It was the only letter from Hermione that alluded to their friendship. It reminded Fleur that life has the potential to feel full at times even when it is more than often not.

_Fleur,_

_It's strange that with so much danger and loss, I can still sometimes watch a sunset and it seems to look and feel like it should. Even when nothing is right in the world! Proving (against my logic and the seemingly ever-pressing heartbreaking darkness) that many moments can offer a glimmer of fulfillment. _

_I know what you are thinking. "What of the heart?" Yes, I agree that hearts can be counted on for that too. They keep us connected and out of the dark. __The heart is fascinating because is not completely of the mind or the physical. Also, I feel that hearts exist beyond the present tense. I believe they can be at once, both in the past and present. I can think of moments in the past, and my heart travels right to the very place. Hearts are curious things. We carry them inside, but they travel wide and far outside of ourselves, at times into the hearts of others. Like when we read the words of friends._

_Be safe,_

_Hermione_

=0=0=0=0=

I had sent Hermione letters after I left Hogwarts. They were usually just light words—my feelings on magic, or a few lines of prose that moved me at the time. Of course, they could become quite heavy too. Voldemort had bred new, fearsome shadows which seemed to lurk behind every happiness. Sometimes it was impossible to feel light.

Hermione didn't respond often. Strangely, it was whenever I planned to stop contact that suddenly I would receive her words. Not surprising, they were always stirring, whatever the subject she chose.

We never wrote of love. I never wrote of what it felt like on that last day at Hogwarts when our hands touched. How against the rough, perfect bark of my favorite tree I had finally felt her seeking me.

=0=0=0=0=

Hermione let Harry hold her hand during part of the ceremony. During the reception, everything changed for the worse yet again when news of the ministry falling came upon them so shockingly. Harry wasn't sure if the witches even got to talk at the party before he, Ron, and Hermione disapparated away. The subject wasn't something to think on at the time. It was usually when he saw Hermione rereading letters from Fleur when she believed him asleep that his thoughts would mull on their separation. Their situation was just one of the many things to be sad about.

* * *

**A/N: thanks for being with me on this little journey. :)**


	7. Chapter 7

Friend, some moments soak themselves so deep that if there were a breeze from a window, you wouldn't feel it. Nor your hand suddenly quivering, shaking tea from your mug. Or that you even had a body. All there is that new, unexpected moment.

My shock when the entropy of war brought Hermione to my doorstep can only be described as a convergence of fight, flight and love. It all swirled inside of me as adrenaline moved my body to action. I hadn't seen my love in so long. I felt full from the sight of her. And devastated with worry.

War brought her to me and the debt was paid in blood and pain.

=0=0=0=0=

"Be still, dearest. Be still." Fleur pleaded as she tried once more to give Hermione a tonic. She sensed that the witch feared to lose consciousness after so much torture. There were probably many moments while in captivity when Hermione didn't know if she would ever wake again. But she did wake, only to endure more cruelty.

"You will come back, Hermione, and I will be here," Fleur whispered as she placed her hand on Hermione's burning cheek. "Its time to let your body and mind rest." When the veela felt the slightest pressure against her palm, she knew Hermione finally consented. She placed the vial to the younger witch's mouth and smiled as she swallowed the medicine.

An hour later the door cracked open. Fleur didn't notice. She was laying half underneath Hermione, who was gripping her tight in her sleep and nuzzled into the crook of Fleur's neck. Tears fell down the veela's cheek as she stroked Hermione's brown hair.

Bill saw that Hermione was cleaned up. "How bad is it, Fleur?" he asked.

"Bad, but she is strong."

* * *

**A/N: Hello there! This was just a little thing to get me used writing again. Summer has been beautiful, busy, and tiring. I had almost forgotten how nice it feels to write. :)**


	8. Chapter 8

Friend, imagine gloves made from the finest threads of understanding. These gloves each have one small button clasped over the past with a heavy,scarred silence. Can you also imagine beautiful, rust-colored stitches, whose lining nurtures each side with patience?

Now picture the inevitable surprise of early Spring and seeing the first crocus bloom. Imagine realizing that your legs never skipped a beat walking by the gloves. There is still a strong chill in the air, but now you want to feel it.

I call you friend because someone that knows so much about me I should like to call a friend. And because the thought of Bill makes me feel like I'm confessing thoughts that weren't meant to be a disservice to him, but they became that all the same.

I thought not of Bill's feelings when he saw Hermione in my arms. Spring had come in a frightful storm and with each flower that bloomed at Hermione's gentle touch, a nightmare always followed with desperate clinging. I watched her breaths expel memory and pain. They had become one. Memories can live in the body in real time. A blessing when we want someone close, and a curse otherwise. The mind and body are one and I knew not how to send Bellatrix Lestrange away from Hermione's.

=0=0=0=0=

Fleur stayed in Hermione's room her whole first night. There were no conversations. Fleur layed next to the witch until the inevitable happened. Hermione curled into Fleur and pressed her head against one side of the veela's neck and her hand on the other.

Fleur, during a lull in Hermione's consciousness, finally succummed to sleep after many hours of witnessing the younger witch's fitful torrents. When she woke, she was under Hermione's gaze. The brown-eyed witch sat in the chair Fleur had put by the bed. The veela had every intention of staying the night in that chair, but currents she could not ignore had pushed her towards physically comforting her friend.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep, Hermione."

"Don't be."

Fleur stretched her back. "How are you?"

"I just said goodbye to Dobby and all I want to do is sleep again."

"Then I will give you back your bed." Fleur smiled as she rose. She saw confusion and disappointment pass over Hermione's face as she swung her legs over the side of the bed.

"Morning is the time where one must now ask permission for what so easily passed in the night. Is it not, Hermione?"

Hermione's chest rose, full of air and nervousness. "It seems that, yes."

Fleur waited, looking on the witch with the gentlest of eyes and smiles.

"Will you stay, Fleur?"

"I will."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hi! Holiday break means more writing! I hope you are doing well even during these turbulent times. ****More editing to follow as usual. :) **

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Friend, when I moved my body to make room for Hermione, she rose slowly. It was not hesitation nor fear which caused Hermione to lower the sheets so gently as she climbed into bed. Instead, it was her reverence for the simple act of being cared for which guided these precise movements. I could see this clearly. For too many years she was the only solid ground her closest friends could rely on. Now with me, she was blissfully and incrementally surrendering to the power of comfort. It was beautiful.

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Resting on her elbow, Fleur didn't want to turn on her back, allowing Hermione to rest on her. Instead she wanted to cover her, to let weight be a grounding, energetic shield. The younger witch laid there, looking at Fleur with tired eyes as the veela raised herself slightly over Hermione, slipping an arm and thigh across her friend's body. Though Fleur's breaths were warm, tiny goose-bumps formed on Hermione's skin. Skin too unfamiliar with pleasure to not react. Fleur moved her face a little further away.

"I thought you may sleep better like this. Will you, Hermione?"

"Yes," she responded, nervousness evident in her voice. "I'll just need a minute. I'm unaccustomed to cuddling, especially-"

"With me?"

"Yes," Hermione burst out before laughing. "It's not what I ever expected. I didn't even expect to survive, Fleur, no less end up in your arms in the home you and Bill share."

"And this is comical?" she asked.

"Actually, no. No, it's not comical. But, here I am laughing."

"We have to laugh, Hermione, even during war -even when we can only have a fraction of what we truly want."

"I've learned that too." Hermione expelled a loud breath. She was crying now instead laughing.

"It's okay. I'm here, Hermione."

"But are you? Really?" she refuted.

Fleur stared at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'm sorry for being rude." Hermione grabbed Fleur's hand tenderly. "In the end it's my fault not yours that I refused closeness to you...But this moment, this proximity is temporary."

"Why should it be? I will always chose you, Hermione, if you can accept me for who I am," Fleur promised resolutely. This fact was easy for the veela. It had always been the case.

"Oh Fleur, let me survive this war before I ask you to leave the person whose always treated you better than I have. I can't ask you to choose me."

"Hermione, I love you." They had never spoken of love, but now was not the time for coyness. "Think on that please, after you've had some sleep."

"How am I ever going to sleep now?" Hermione sighed. "And please don't say sleeping drought."

"Should I leave?"

"No. Please, don't," Hermione insisted.

"Would you like me to use a bit of my thrall? I can temper it to help you relax."

"You can do that?"

"I am veela."

"You say that like that one word explains everything," Hermione replied.

"It does." Fleur said as she allowed her love for Hermione to blend with her aura, which she eased over Hermione ever so gently. She watched with joy as her friend smiled before falling asleep, no doubt feeling more loved than she's ever felt before.


End file.
